Time to play the game
by The Sangheili Mutant
Summary: CSI/SAW crossover. Takes place after SAW 7, and sometime during mid-late season 7 of CSI. When the CSI Graveyard shift is captured by the fanatical, headstrong accomplices of the infamous "Jigsaw" killer's asset, Dr. Gordon, things can only go from bad to worse for the criminalistics. And yes, there are some character deaths. Rated T for violence and language
1. Chapter 1: Instructions

A/N: I decided to make this after scouring the entirety of Fan Fiction for a crossover between SAW and CSI, but I couldn't find one. So, without further ado, I give you my creation. I'm actually really proud of it, and I think it's one of my best stories…I hope I'm not coming across as being over-confident, or bragging!

Chapter One: Instructions

(Grissom)

When he fell asleep that night, he did so in his bed, which wasn't uncommon. When he woke up, however, the first thing Gil Grissom noticed was that he was strapped into a chair. He felt his heart begin to beat faster and tried to keep the fear at bay.

He looked around at his surroundings, feeling like he had been drugged. He appeared to be in a room at some abandoned factory or warehouse of some sort based on the condition of the room. He tested the strength of his restraints and found he could barely move his hands due to cut-off circulation. His feet were tied just as tightly.

He sighed in frustration and heard a blast of white noise come from behind him. He whipped his head around and was able to crane his neck enough to see a TV flicker to an image of a man wearing a creepy, yet familiar pig mask, and a black jumpsuit. Something was unsettlingly familiar about the wardrobe, but he just couldn't place it.

The man on the screen looked up into the camera and gave a small wave. "Hello, Gilbert Grissom." the perp said. Grissom froze, recognizing the voice changer. "The Jigsaw killer and his known accomplices may be dead, but the games are far from over, and we want to play a game. The lives of your graveyard shift coworkers are in peril. Some of your friends will depend on you to save them, but some will have to save themselves. Listen carefully, Mr. Grissom, if you want to save your friends. To save them, you must first save yourself. The key to your salvation is located in this room, but you better hurry. If you fail to locate the key in sixty seconds, this room will be sealed shut and everyone you care about will die. Let the game begin."

And with that, the screen returned to static. He tried again to free his hands, and a distinct '_click_' was heard; his restraints falling away. Feeling blood rush back into his extremities, he looked at what had bound his hands and feet: some sort of wire attached to what appeared to be a computer chip. He soon gained enough stamina to stand, and as he did, a timer lit up on the door, counting down from sixty.

'_Oh, god_!' he thought, stepping into the middle of the room as he looked for a place the key could be hidden. '_Come on, Gilbert, think_!' his mind pleaded as his eyes searched for answers. The room was devoid of any furniture aside from the TV, the TV stand, and the chair. He was down to thirty seconds when he noticed an envelope taped to the back of the chair. He tore it open and stared in shock at the contents: a note reading 'try again', and a picture of the long dead CSI, Holly Gribbs.

He tossed the note and envelope aside and spotted another envelope taped under the chair. He snatched it up and sighed in relief when a key fell into his hand. He stood and slid Holly's picture in his pocket while simultaneously running for the door. Never glancing at the timer, he shoved the key in the lock and turned it, freezing as he heard a loud buzzing. The door opened and he exhaled a breath he had been holding. He looked up at the timer, surprised to see that only three seconds had remained before the fates of him, and his friends would have been sealed, like the door.

He stepped out of the room and gazed down the long corridor ahead of him, which seemed to stretch on forever. The drone of flickering lights was clearly heard as he stepped down the hall. An arrow was spray-painted onto the floor, pointing down another hall. Now, Mr. Gil Grissom wasn't an idiot. He knew the suspect, or suspects, wanted him to go down this new hallway, and he knew that they knew he would think about ignoring the sign. However, they also knew that he wouldn't risk his friends' lives, so going against his instincts, he followed the arrow, knowing he was walking right where they wanted him.

And as soon as he could see what was waiting for him in the flickering-light-illuminated room, he knew he was right.

A/N: so, that was chapter one. Warning, there will be character deaths, because it wouldn't be a SAW story without death.


	2. Chapter 2: Choices

Disclaimer: I do not own the SAW franchise or CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, so please don't sue me. (A/N: I know it's supposed to go at the beginning of the story, but I forgot. Hopefully that won't cost my story the need to be deleted!)

Chapter Two: Choices

(Grissom)

Before him were two men hanging from two separate meat hooks suspended from the ceiling. Both men were hanging from handcuffs slung over the hooks, and both men had black burlap sacks over their heads. As he stepped closer, he could see the steady movements of their chests that signaled they were both alive. He quickened his pace, thinking they were members of his team.

"Nick? Greg?" he called. The two men moved their heads at the sound of his voice, and he could hear muffled replies. He reached them and removed the bags, disappointed and confused that they were not members of the graveyard shift; he didn't even recognize them.

Both men had duct tape covering their mouths, but begged for help with their eyes. Grissom was never a man to leave someone else in distress, and he wasn't about to start now…regardless of whatever trap he was now a part of. He removed the gags quickly, wanting to know who they were and why they were a part of this…game.

"Get me out of here!" the man on his right yelled, clearly terrified.

"Where the hell are we?" the other, younger, man asked, looking at the hook he was hanging from.

"I don't know. I'll try to get you down." Grissom said, looking around for a pipe or something he could use to dislodge the handcuffs from the hooks. He noticed a tape recorder on a table behind the men.

"Hey, man, where are you going?" the left man asked as he moved out of their line of sight.

"Come back! Don't leave!" the right man begged. He picked up the recorder and pressed 'play'.

"_Hello again, Mr. Grissom. You almost made us think you weren't going to make it out of that room. Congratulations for passing. By now, we're sure you have many questions for us, but let's start by saying this is your next test. We'll be watching your every move_." the voice said, still being cloaked by the voice changer.

"What is that?" one of the men asked. Grissom looked up as there was a pause in the tape, noticing a security camera in the far corner, watching them.

"_You probably don't recognize the two men before you. It's okay. It's been years since you last saw either of them. Their names are Stuart Gardner and Jerrod Cooper_."

Grissom slowly turned to face them, instantly remembering who they were, and what they've done.

"_You remember them now, don't you? Jerrod killed your beloved CSI rookie, Holly Gribbs. Stuart killed four people he believed didn't deserve a second chance when they escaped the justice system…but he's killed more, you just never found their bodies. Your task is to deliver justice. While both men were incarcerated, we all know they deserved the death penalty, don't we? All we're asking of you is to take your gun from the box under the table and shoot one of them_."

He looked down, and sure enough, a box was under the table.

"_When this tape ends, you will have ninety seconds to choose. Who deserves to die more, Mr. Grissom? The killer of one CSI, or the killer of a dozen criminals that slipped through the cracks? Don't forget, we're watching you. Make the choice_."

The tape ended and another countdown screen lit up.

"Hey, man, shoot him! He's a cop killer! I was doing Vegas a favor with my deeds!" Stuart yelled.

"Oh, screw you, buddy! You're the serial killer! You're the one that should eat a bullet!" Jerrod snapped angrily. Grissom took the gun from the box and checked its ammo: one round.

"I'm serving my time, I don't deserve to die!" Stuart said, trying to defend himself.

"You and me both!" Jerrod chimed in. Grissom took out the picture of Holly, remembering how her death shook the team after only her first day.

Thirty-seven seconds remained and he approached the men, who were in a contest to see who could say "kill him" louder.

Thirty-two seconds. He put Holly's picture in his pocket.

Twenty-nine seconds. He looked at each convict, both hating himself, but also feeling glad for making a choice.

Eighteen seconds. He aimed his weapon at the back of the man's skull and fired, killing Jerrod. He had wanted to do that for a long time… He was never a man who outwardly showed many emotions other than curiosity or intrigue. People thought of him as weird, or an outsider, but he was content with his life – helping piece together the victims' final moments and helping to give closure and justice was more than enough to make him feel needed. But there were some people he'd like to just shoot in the head and end it all, as much as he disliked using his own service weapon.

The countdown stopped and a buzzer sounded as a door opened, bringing him out of his reverie.

"Get me out! Please!" Stuart yelled, starting to cry and scream in fear. Grissom dropped his empty gun and slowly approached the door.

"You can't leave me in here!" the remaining convict sobbed brokenly. Grissom closed the door behind him, blocking out Stuart's cries for help. He knew the other man was a serial killer, but for the briefest of moments, he felt a pang of remorse for leaving him.

A/N: I hope I didn't make Grissom appear OOC. I don't think I did, but if I did, I'm sorry. It's just for this one chapter where he kills someone in cold blood like this…


	3. Chapter 3: Unworthy

A/N: First SAW related chapter. Remember, this is immediately after SAW 7. And yes, I know that the SAW movies didn't take place in Las Vegas, but just roll with it for the purposes of this story.

Chapter Three: Unworthy

(Lawrence Gordon)

He returned to his lair after locking up the detective-slash-accomplice Mark Hoffman. That man didn't even know what hit him, and he called himself an accomplice of John Kramer, the Jigsaw Killer? Hoffman thought he was better than John. No one was better than the man that completely transformed his life, and saved him from bleeding to death in that dingy cellar. John was a visionary, a messiah. The world was filled with people who needed to be set straight through John's tests.

He approached his new accomplices, Brad and Ryan. He was present the day they were tested, and he passed, just as he had hoped, by realizing the manipulative whore they both loved was nothing more than a…manipulative whore. As Lawrence looked on at the row of computer monitors his young interns were staring at, he realized they had started a new game.

"What is this?" he asked, leaning on his cane.

"What's it look like?" Brad asked, not bothering to look at him.

"It looks like a game that I didn't authorize. Who are on these screens?" he asked.

"A whole graveyard shift team of some Crime Scene Investigators." Ryan said.

"What are they all guilty of?" he asked.

"That's the kicker. Most of them aren't guilty of anything." Ryan answered.

"Then why are they here?" Lawrence asked, gripping the top of his cane in anger.

"Some of them have killed. It's just like you told us, Gordon: taking a life is not acceptable. They have to pay." Brad said.

"They're cops! Of course they've killed people in self-defense! That's not grounds for them to be tested." he said.

His accomplices laughed. "Self-defense? Really? Killing someone before they can kill you is just like killing someone because you can!" Ryan said.

"Their boss has already killed an unarmed man just because we told him to. It wasn't self-defense, Gordon, it was murder." Brad chimed in after the giggles subsided.

"This isn't what John would've wanted. We have to stop the game before you kill an innocent man." he said, heading towards the door.

"How are you going to stop it? You have no idea where they are." Ryan said.

Lawrence turned to them, coming at them with surprising speed. "Listen to me, you maggots! You can't twist John's mission to your own needs. That's not how we do things! You need to end this before someone dies. Innocent people are at stake!" he yelled, grabbing Ryan's shirt. The blonde just stared at him, only showing the smallest indication of fear.

"So are killers; people who have killed others just because they have the authority to get away with it. They're not innocent. They're guilty, Gordon, they all are." Brad said, standing up to defend Ryan.

"They can't be. You stop this, or I will." he said, pushing off of Ryan.

"Hey, Gordon! You're the one who put us on this path. If any of them die, technically it would be your fault." Ryan called out as he smoothed out his shirt.

"That's insane." Lawrence dismissed, heading outside.

He went to his car, ready to search any and all previous sites John had used for his games. As he sat down in the car and closed the door, someone snatched his cane away. From the back seat. H whirled around and was faced with a grimy, pissed off, Mark Hoffman.

"You didn't lock the door to that bathroom." the rival accomplice of Jigsaw spoke, whacking Lawrence in the face with his own cane. The blow tossed his keys under the passenger seat, far from his reach. As he spat a mixture of saliva and blood onto the floor of the car, he looked up into the crazed eyes of his attacker.

"Tell me…how did you get out of that shackle?" he asked, doing an amazing job of keeping the tide of fear at bay.

"You left the damn toilet tank lid on the floor. A couple blows to the padlock on the chain snapped it like a twig." Hoffman said, looking over the cane.

"Now what do you think I want to do more than anything?" Hoffman asked, whacking Lawrence in the thigh. He grabbed the stinging flesh on his leg and hissed in pain.

"You killed John's wife. He wanted me to take care of whoever hurt her.: he said, rubbing his thigh.

"Ex-wife…and John's dead. He doesn't have a say in anything anymore." Hoffman said, hitting Lawrence's face again and again, ignoring the blood spattering his face and clothes. Lawrence tried grabbing at the cane, but his vision was becoming blurry as each blow wracked his senses. Within minutes, he had lost consciousness, hanging on to life by a thread.

(Hoffman)

Finding the doctor was only a slight challenge. After escaping the house used for a trap involving Amanda, and Detective Matthews' son, it was only a matter of time before he found one of his mentor's old 'offices'. Killing the doctor was nearly as satisfying as killing Jill.

He entered the building undetected, soon coming across two men facing a row of screens showing surveillance footage…of an ongoing game.

"You two must be the ones who held me down while the thought-to-be-dead Dr. Lawrence Gordon injected me." he said, announcing his presence. The young men turned around, startled at the unfamiliar voice.

"Take one step out of that chair, and I'll kill you." he said, looking at the brunette to his left. He took a couple steps forward, getting a better look at the footage.

"Did you…kill Gordon?" the other man asked, staring at the blood on his face.

"Yes," he replied casually, "and if you don't want to suffer the same fate, you will do exactly as I tell you." he said.

"But we're in the middle of a game." the man to his right said.

"I don't care…" he abruptly stopped himself. "What kind of game?" he asked, still slightly intrigued by the still-ongoing work of one long-dead Mr. John Kramer.

"We got a bunch of CSI's." the man to his left said.

"Crime Scene Investigators?" he asked.

"And some lab workers on their shift. Plus a homicide detective." the man added.

"That's going to bring a lot of heat. Lucky for you, I'm a detective. I can make sure we don't get caught." he said, taking a seat by the young men.


	4. Chapter 4: Save Yourself

Chapter 4: Save Yourself

(Warrick)

"_Hello, Mr. Brown, and welcome to your nightmare. Three hours ago, you were brought here to be prepared for your game, and now is the time to play. Your objective is simple: survive. All you need to do that is to atone for your sins. You're supposed to be a man of th law, and while you have done your duty to put criminals away, you have been responsible for innocent lives being ruined. You have but one task to complete to redeem yourself. All you need to do is leave this room. The path, however, is treacherous, so watch your step_."

The tape ended five minutes ago, in which Warrick was able to ascertain the situation and his surroundings…kind of. The room was pitch-black, and the only light was a small, blinking red light associated with security cameras. He was forced to inch around the room, arms blindly sweeping in front of him to locate the door to his freedom. He bumped into a wall, which gave him a small, electric shock.

"Ow! Son of a…" he trailed off, mumbling under his breath. He turned around and started walking back the way he thought he came and tripped, his hand burning as something impaled it. He cursed and gingerly felt the object protruding from his left hand. It felt like a blade, possibly a steak knife or a close relative. He braced himself and pulled it out, yelping in pain. He tossed the knife aside and felt around the floor, stopping as he felt many more knives sticking up from the ground. He slowly crawled around them, bumping into the electrified walls again.

"Son of a bitch!" he muttered, stopping to catch his breath.

He continued crawling around, being extremely cautious about where he placed his hands. His eyes started to adjust in the zero-light environment, not that it helped; he still couldn't see a damn thing.

He froze as he thought he heard something outside, but dismissed it as over-active imagination. He had called out for help for nearly five minutes when he first woke up in wherever the hell he was. He heard a violent, metal-on-metal 'clamp' behind him and recognized the sound as a bear trap.

'_Must've nudged it the wrong way with my foot_.' he thought, getting antsy at the thought at how close he was to losing a foot. One false move could either kill him, or leave him too injured to continue out of the room.

He exhaled loudly and crawled forward in a mocking sort of arm-limp because of his left hand. A whirring sound traveled through the door and he could see a sliver of light appear under a door. Now knowing he was going in the wrong direction, he turned around (cautiously) and moved toward the sliver of light. After several near-misses with some more knives and bear traps, he reached the door, laughing in relief as he stood and grabbed the handle. His laugh was cut short as the door mysteriously swung open, as did his mouth. Ahead of him were two hallways, each leading a different way, and each decorated with spray-painted question marks.

He looked to his left and saw only a wall. To his right was another hall, with a box on a chair at its entrance. As he approached the chair, he ripped a strip of his shirt off to make a makeshift bandage for his hand. He spotted another camera pointing at the box and gave it the finger as he approached the box. Inside was a note saying 'reward', and a flashlight. He grabbed the light and went back to the room he had escaped, wanting to know what he had been up against. Illuminated by the path of light, several knives glistened in the floor. Steak knives, butter knives, meat cleavers, butcher knives…not to mention the bear traps, mouse traps, joy buzzers, and syringes. Thin wires ran along the walls, humming with electricity. As Warrick kneeled down to look at the floor, he noticed that the knives and syringes were held in place by duct tape.

He turned around and decided to head down the hall that gave him his 'reward'. He checked out every door he passed, all of which revealed an empty room, or was locked. After trying to kick down some of the doors, and failing every time, he gave up. They must've been reinforced.

At every turn he made, he noticed another camera watching him, which deeply unsettled him. He soon got to a dead end, and was forced to go back the way he came. When he did, he took mental notes in his surroundings. Based on the condition of the building, it was very old, and had been abandoned for quite some time, maybe two years.

He was soon faced with the two question marked halls again. Looking between the two, he chose to go down the first one. Walking for what seemed like an hour, he reached a much larger room, almost like a garage of some sort. He took notice of the three cameras surveying the room as he looked around. Below each camera, painted on the floor, were arrows; and next to each arrow was someone's credentials. He quickly snatched up the one closest to him and opened it, feeling his stomach drop as he looked at Catherine's ID. He looked down the hall the arrow pointed at and saw several rooms. He ran forward to the closest door.

"Catherine! Catherine, can you hear me?" he yelled through the door. He opened it and found it was empty, immediately moving to the other door. He opened it and could barely make out a figure in the dark room.

"Catherine?" he whispered, turning on the light. She was unconscious, lying on the floor, bleeding from many puncture marks. He knelt down next to her and gently tapped her cheek, trying to rouse her. Her breathing was shallow and rapid, which wasn't a good sign.

"Catherine, please wake up." he spoke, tearing up. As he looked around for something, anything, to stop the bleeding, he spotted five bloody rebars in a macabre criss-cross pile within arm's reach. He looked over Catherine's body and counted five impalement marks: left shoulder, eft frearm, right side, and both thighs.

"What did they do to you?" he asked softly, stroking her cheek. She stirred and flinched away, her eyes fluttering open.

"Cath, hey, you with me?" he asked, feeling his heart start to pound more.

"Yeah, I'm…I'm okay." she said, blinking rapidly.

"Come on, let's sit you up." he said, dragging her towards a wall. She moaned at the sudden movement, and he apologized for causing her pain.

"How bad am I?" she asked, her hair falling in her face.

"You're fine. I've seen worse injuries from a pencil." he reassured, forcing a small smile.

She laughed, which turned into a hacking cough. "Oh, Warrick," she moaned, setting her head back against the wall. "Even in this mess, you still manage to make me smile."

He looked over her wounds again, noticing the blood was clotting. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Lightheaded…a little nauseous. Which I guess isn't bad considering I just pulled five spikes from my body." she replied.

"Do you think you can stand?" he asked.

"Yeah, just help me up." she said, a little too weakly for his liking. He helped her and she noticed his hand. "You're bleeding."

"It's just a scratch." he said, slowly hauling her to her feet.

"Shirt's soaked through." she noticed.

"It's nothing. Paper cut compared to what you got." he said, reaching the halfway point to the door. After a couple minutes, they reached the large room with the two remaining ID's.

"What is this?" Catherine asked, looking around.

"I'm not sure. Wait here, and I'll get the others out." he said, gently setting her down. He returned to the room where Catherine suffered unimaginable pain and grabbed one of the rebars.

'_Never know what can come in handy_.' he thought, being smart.

He went to the next closest hallway and looked at the ID.

"Nick!" he yelled, dropping the credentials as he ran. He got to a single door, faintly aware of a hissing sound as he practically ripped the door open. His eyes locked on to the sight of his best friend, strapped down inside a glass box as all kinds of bugs crawled and slithered and flew around the room.


	5. Chapter 5: Potential

**A/N**: two chapters in one day, my lovelies!

Chapter 5: Potential

(Grissom)

Every step he took through the maze-like corridors was one step farther from the man he had killed. Sure the guy deserved it, but he was starting to feel…unclean…once the shock wore off. He had just killed a man, a man who was far from innocent.

He soon arrived at a door with a tape player hanging on its door knob from a string. He removed it and pressed 'play'.

"_Hello again, Mr. Grissom. We are so glad you decided to do what needed to be done back there, otherwise the three of you would have choked to death on carbon monoxide gas. Your game has only just begun, and to continue, you must enter the room before you."_

The tape ended and he placed a hand on the door knob, looking down the hall before he opened it. The room was lit up like a dark room; a red safelight gave the room a red hue. He could see what looked like a person tied to a chair, but they were covered by a sheet. There was a table to the right of the person that had another tape player, a brick, a baseball bat, bolt cutters, a knife, and a meat cleaver. Looking back at the person under the sheet, who hadn't moved, he reached to remove said sheet. A shrill, high-pitched alarm sounded, startling the person into consciousness, as well as nearly giving Grissom a heart attack.

As he heard muffled moans of confusion and panic, an overhead projector screen unfurled, revealing the words 'DON'T DO THAT'. The person blindly looked around under the sheet, their head swiveling from side to side, and Grissom played the tape on the table.

"_Your entire career is based on finding criminals, people who commit unspeakable cruelty, but you never get to deliver justice. Your first test gave you a taste of that, and you enjoyed it, didn't you? We all know you did, even if it was deep down. In front of you is a man who is guilty of murder. You must be familiar with the phrase 'thou shalt not kill'. Now, you must be curious, since you just killed a man."_

He glanced at the trembling form under the sheet.

"_That was to prove the point that all people are capable of murder. Serial killers, cops, you, and your companion. The test, is whether you get to deliver justice. The man in the room with you killed another human being and didn't serve a lick of jail time. Kind of goes against our so-called Court of Law, doesn't it. So will you deliver justice for the man who was ran down, or will you leave that for us, the seasoned killers? You have five minutes to deliver rehabilitation through pain. You must crush his right hand and his right foot, or cut them off, if you prefer. After you release him, he will be instantly cleansed. If you fail to complete your task in five minutes, or you choose not to deliver justice, then the fire sprinklers will go off, showering the room in hydrofluoric acid .If you cut him free before rehabilitating him, the sprinklers will go off. Let your second test begin."_

Another time started counting down and the man under the sheet's muffled whimpers was heard as he started crying. He reached to remove the sheet again, but the alarm sounded, making them both jump. He could hear a whooshing sound above them, like the sound of liquid being reintroduced into the pipes.

'_Come on, Gilbert, you have to outsmart these guys_.' he thought, looking around the room. There was only one camera in the room, but it was protected by a cage of some sort. Besides the chair and the table, there was no other furniture. He began to pace, looking from the man in the chair, to the table, to the timer. He now had four minutes to crush a man's hand and foot. There was no way he was going to sever them.

'_Not a man, a murderer. The tape said he ran down another man and didn't pay. That…that makes this justifiable, right? Besides, you're not going to kill him, and if you don't go through with this, you'll both die_.' he thought, his mind seemingly rationalizing what he was about to do.

With three and a half minutes remaining, he picked up the bat, still unsure he wanted to go through with this. Through the whimpers, Grissom thought he heard the man try to say 'please don't.', albeit muffled. He hesitated and lowered the bat, looking back at the camera. He didn't want to do this!

He sighed and tried to regain his nerves as he raised the bat again. Praying he was doing the right thing, he swung down on the man's bare foot, trying so hard to ignore the pained screams as he repeatedly bludgeoned the foot. Once he heard some of the metatarsal bones break, he moved on to the hand.

He knew the man was in immense pain and was begging for him to stop, and he wished he could, but he couldn't. Time was running low.

"I'm doing this to _save_ you. You heard that tape, and this won't kill you, so just…tough it out, okay? This is nothing compared to the acid that'll rain down in…two minutes." he said, preparing himself to destroy another part of the un-convicted murderer.

He swung down again and again, trying not to watch the man's hand curl up into a fist and re-open repeatedly, like he was squeezing an invisible stress ball. After hearing more cracks and snaps, he dropped the bat and reached for the sheet. When no alarm sounded, he removed it.

"Oh my god..." he said, locking eyes with the terrified man gagged and restrained in front of him.

"No, no, no nonono! Greg, oh my god!" he said, grabbing the bolt cutters to remove the ankle shackles and pairs of handcuffs. After cutting them off, he removed the gag with twenty seconds remaining.

"It's not…not your fault." Greg said, grimacing at the sight of his mutilated hand. Grissom tried to ignore the look of hurt and fear Greg cast at him when the sheet was pulled away, not doing a good job at it.

"Come on, the door's right over there. We can make it." he said, letting Greg lean against him for support as he stood. After all, it was the least he could do…he'd carry Greg if he thought it'd help.

He still had the bolt cutters in his free hand as they made it out of the room. He shut the door and they started moving down the hall at a slow, yet steady pace.

"Oh God, Greg, I don't think I can ever stop apologizing for this. If I knew it was you, I wouldn't have done it." he said, glaring at a camera they were nearing.

"Yes you would have." Greg said. They stopped and he looked at his younger colleague. "I would have made you. A few broken bones are nothing compared to a hydrofluoric acid bath." Greg added.

"You could lose your job." he said.

"Better that than both of us dying in some middle-of-nowhere…wherever." Greg said, wincing.

(Lawrence Gordon)

His head was spinning with pain as he sat up. There was blood everywhere and it took him a minute to remember what had happened. Then it all came back: the new game, the crime scene investigators, Hoffman…

He opened the door and slowly stepped out of the car, blood oozing down the side of his face. He slowly limped back inside the lair after being unable to find his cane. He heard someone yelling and slowly neared the main office. He was unnoticed as he stood in the doorway, watching Hoffman, Brad, and Ryan. They were all looking at a screen where a gray-haired, but not necessarily elderly man, about his age, was yelling into one of the cameras.

"_He killed that man to save the life of another! Demetrius James was a low-life gang member who beat up tourists for fun! Greg Sanders didn't deserve what you put him through!" _the man yelled, suddenly looking away, listening to another man urging him that they needed to get out of there.

"Well if it isn't the three little psychopaths." he said, announcing his presence as he grabbed his cane from the ground.

"Gordon?" Brad asked, looking surprised.

"I thought you said you killed him!" Ryan said. Hoffman stood, glaring daggers at the blood-covered face of Lawrence Gordon.

"You three showed such potential. You could've made excellent partners." Gordon said, taking a step forward as he leaned on his cane.

"I was an excellent accomplice. Better than Amanda Young. Better than Jill. Better than you." Hoffman said.

"Really? You think killing John's wife and half the police force to get to her was you beingng loyal to John?" he asked.

"I never served John Kramer. Unlike you, I have an agenda." Hoffman said.

"Really, detective? I hope you have nothing planned for the next…rest of your life." he said. Brad and Ryan looked at each other when he said the last part.

"You-" Hoffman started to accuse.

"Yes, I called the cops. They should be here any time now." he said.

Hoffman started laughing, a low chuckle. "You didn't have a phone on you." the detective said. They heard a loud bang, a gunshot, on the screens and looked. He used this to his advantage and limped as fast as he could, swinging the cane at Hoffman's head. He hit his target and the larger man fell.

"Fine. You want to do this the hard way, then we'll do this the hard way." he said, looking at Brad and Ryan, who seemed both excited and scared shitless.


	6. Chapter 6: A death in the Family

**A/N**: Warrick's p.o.v. is a flashback, so it's italicized.

Chapter 6: A Death in the Family

(Mandy)

"Someone help!" she screamed, trying to open the locked door. "God, this can't be happening!"

She looked over to the security camera that was watching her.

"What do you want?!" she yelled, throwing her hands in the air. She ran a hand through her hair as she sat on the floor. She had no idea how long she had been in the room, but it couldn't have been that long. She had friends, family, people who would notice if she wasn't around.

She closed her eyes and attempted to calm down. When she reopened them, she almost started crying as she noticed she was still stuck in the tiny room. It was almost like a prison cell, except it was a hundred times creepier.

She couldn't help but start crying again, turning to the camera as if blaming it.

"I'm just a fingerprint analyst! I don't carry a gun, and I don't collect evidence at crime scenes! Whoever was put away, I just ran the prints!" she yelled, her sadness turning to anger.

The silence that followed her outburst seemed to mock her, which only made her more scared and confused. As she started to aimlessly walk the perimeter of the room, she flinched mid-step at a loud bang. The sound was unmistakable…a gun had been fired. What if someone had just killed someone else…or themself?

The door creaked open an inch, thankfully interrupting her increasingly worrisome thoughts. She slowly pushed the door open halfway and peeked out to the left and right before noticing a doll on the ground, propped against the wall like it was sitting. Everything about the doll was exceedingly creepy: the white skin, the red spirals on its cheeks, even the messy black hair. The creepiest aspect, however, were its eyes: completely black except for red, pinpoint irises.

Then there was the simple, yet disconcerting outfit: black tuxedo, white shirt, white gloves, red bow tie, red handkerchief tucked neatly into the breast pocket, and finally, the red shoes.

She decided to head down to her left, where she heard the shot come from. Bafflingly, there was no door, just a big, black '?' painted on the wall. She turned around and returned to the world's creepiest doll, quickly passing it as she continued to the right of 'her room'.

She froze once she heard voices, quickly looking for a place to hide. As she turned around, she heard someone call out her name. She turned around again, faced with a handful of her coworkers.

"Catherine? Oh my gosh, you're bleeding!" she announced, stating the obvious.

"I'll live. That is, if we ever get out of here." Catherine replied. Nick helped her along as Warrick approached.

"You okay, Mandy?" he asked.

"Physically, I'm peachy. Mentally, though, not so good." What are we doing here?" she asked.

"We think we were kidnapped by a Jigsaw Killer copycat." Nick replied.

"You guys are able to think? I can barely keep myself from curling up in a ball and crying for my mom." she paused as Nick words hit her. "You said Jigsaw? Does that mean…were you guys tortured?"

"Catherine had it the worst, but we're okay." Nick said, trying to smile reassuringly.

"Well what happen…never mind, I don't want to know." she said.

"No you don't. Listen, what's down there?" Warrick asked, pointing behind her.

"Nothing. Dead end." she said.

"Damn. This place is so annoying! It's like every other turn leads to nothing." Nick said, helping Catherine turn around.

As they continued back the way the group of three had come, Mandy remembered the gunshot. "Hey, did you guys hear a gunshot earlier?"

"Yeah." Warrick replied, a little too quickly.

"Well what happened?" she asked, noticing the three of them start to look like guilty perps.

_(Warrick)_

"_Hold on, Nick, I'm going to get you out!" he yelled, swatting away some creepy crawlies on the glass coffin. His friend looked up at him, sheer terror in his eyes._

'This is too soon after he was buried alive…it's going to set him back in his recovery for sure_.' he thought, kicking away a tarantula as he raised the rebar. "Look away!"_

_Nick did so, and he smashed the lid of the box. Being sure to act quickly, he undid the leather straps across his friend's knees, stomach, and shoulders._

"_I don't think I can do this again." Nick said as tears streaked hi pale face._

"_You can, Nick, you have to. Catherine needs our help. You hear me, man?" he asked, grabbing Nick's shoulders. "Catherine's hurt." he added as he looked into his best friend's eyes._

"_She's here?" Nick asked, seeming to forget about the spiders and worms and other bugs covering the floor._

"_Yes, and she needs our help. We're no good to her if we're in here. That means facing your fear." he said, wishing he wasn't being so blunt about this whole traumatizing experience. He didn't want to push his friend too hard._

"_She…" Nick trailed off, looking like he was trying to sort something out in his head. "She needs us." he finished, looking a little more focused._

"_Yes! Yeah, man!" he said, smiling. "Are you up for some bug squishing to get out of here?"_

"_I'm…yeah, let's go." Nick said, still extremely pale, but starting to look like himself again as the tears stopped. As he helped Nick stand up, he heard an almost pitiful moan from the Texan, which made his gut clench. He led Nick out of the room as fast as he could to make the bug exposure brief._

_They hurried over to Catherine, who was barely clinging to consciousness by the time they reached her._

"_Hey, Catherine, I'm back." Warrick said softly as he kneeled down b her. "Look who I found." he added once she looked at him. _

_She turned her head, giving a weak smile as a greeting. "How are you doing, Nicky? You don't look so good." she said._

"_I'm okay. Better now, now that I know you're good." Nick said, giving a small, but genuine smile._

"_Nick, stay with Catherine, I'm going to go check out the third room." he said, heading to the last ID. It belonged to Bobby Dawson, the ballistics expert. Still clutching the rebar, he opened the door and saw Bobby lying on a stainless steel table, with some kind of shackle-like restraints around his hands and feet._

"_Help! Get me out of here! Please!" Bobby begged, looking from Warrick to the ceiling. He followed Bobby's gaze and saw four circular saws mounted to their own respective beams._

_There was a tape player on Bobby's stomach and he played it._

"Welcome back, Warrick Brown. We know we told you that your sins would be forgiven if you escaped the room, and they were. Now it's time for a lesson, one you know all too well: you can't save everyone. These three rooms will prove that. Two of the three occupants will be rescued by your hand, so choose wisely. The third, however, will be killed, and there's nothing you can do to stop it, so choose wisely_."_

_He already saved Catherine and Nick, which meant Bobby was already doomed; he was dead before Warrick even knew the game._

"_Come on, get me out of here!" Bobby yelled, panicking. The saws revved to life and began their descent down. "Come on, man, please!" he yelled, eyes glued to the saws._

_Warrick looked around the room and saw a padlocked shackle under the table. That was his clue._

"_Where's the key?" he asked, continuing his search. The whine of the saws was relelntless, and starting to drive him crazy._

"_Bobby, where's the damn key?!" he yelled, looking to see if it was glued to the underside of the table._

"_Warrick!" Nick called. He got up and turned to see Nick and Catherine in the door way, the former of whom was pointing at one of the saws. Warrick looked up and saw the key tied to one of the beams. He climbed onto the table, being careful to avoid the saws, and removed the key from its string. After unlocking Bobby's right hand, a bright light started to blink above them and the saws started to move down faster._

"_Hurry up!" Bobby pleaded, clawing at his other hand's shackle. Warrick unlocked that one and the saws moved down faster, the whining indicating they were spinning even faster. He slid down to the feet shackles and fumbled trying to unlock the first one, wasting precious seconds. He knew he was running out of time and once he freed Bobby's right foot, the saws plunged down with incredible speed, amputating Bobby's left foot from his leg. Blood spattered on Warrick's face, but he barely felt it as he stared in shock at what happened to Bobby's leg as the gun guy screamed in pain._

"_No!" Warrick yelled, dropping the key as the saws stopped and retracted up to the ceiling. Bobby had passed out from shock, and was a hundred times paler than Nick. "Oh, god, I'm sorry." he whispered, staring at the severed leg. It was only halfway up the shin, and a considerable amount of blood was pouring from the stump._

"_Warrick…" Catherine choked as he checked Bobby's vitals._

"_He's in shock, but he's still alive." he said as Nick and Catherine came forward._

"_If we don't get out-" Nick started._

"_I know! But he'll be fine, he has to!" Warrick snapped as he started to haul Bobby up._

(Mandy)

"The shot I heard…that was a mercy kill." she said after the three of them explained the story about Bobby Dawson.

"We, uh…" Nick trailed off, clearing his throat.

"We were able to get as far as my first…test, but the blood loss was too much. There was a gun in the next hall, and I… I shot him." Warrick said, putting a hand over his eyes.


	7. Chapter 7: Freedom?

Chapter 7: Freedom?

(Archie)

He woke up face-down on a grimy-looking floor. As he quickly stood up to try and figure out where he was, a TV turned on. He gasped and spun around, looking at a man on the screen dressed in a black jumpsuit wearing some Halloween pig mask. The man slowly looked over to the screen, to _him_.

"Hello, Archie Johnson. We want to play a game with you." the man said, his voice sounding distorted.

"What? What is this?" he asked, expecting the man to reply.

"Working in the A/V lab may have put you away from the immediate danger from the occasional armed suspect, but nothing lasts forever. We're sure you and your coworkers have heard about the Jigsaw Killer and his demise, so now you all feel safer again. Our job is to prove that no one is safe. You work side-by-side with people who have killed others because it was their duty. But does that justify their action? Shouldn't all murderers and those harboring them be punished? That's what justice is, Mr. Johnson. Your task will be to choose between freedom and justice. To choose freedom, all you have to do is jump out the window. Know that you will survive, but you could suffer irreparable damage. To choose justice, open the door behind you and flip the switch. Carbon monoxide gas will be pumped through this facility, killing yourself and your murderous coworkers. The choice may seem obvious, but you possibly have a fifty-fifty chance of saving your friends. Will you risk it?" the man asked and the TV went to static.

Of course he'd risk it. They were all like a large, semi-dysfunctional family! Even if there was only one member of the graveyard shift trapped in the building, he'd jump.

He looked out the window and realized he was about two stories up.

'_I can do this_.' he though, trying to calm himself. '_Two stories is nothing…even though people can die by tripping over their own feet. No, stop it! You can do this, Archie_!' he thought as he mentally prepared himself. He took a couple steps back and leapt out the window.

(Brad and Ryan)

"Fine. You want to do this the hard way, then we'll do this the hard way." Gordon said as he stood over the downed detective.

"Woah, woah, woah. Gordon, what are you doing? He was going to help us!" Brad said, looking to his mentor.

"This man is almost as bad as you two. Worse, even. He needs to be stopped." Gordon said, turning to them.

"No need to get your panties in a twist." Ryan muttered under his breath.

"You two better pray I find those CSI's alive. If you flip some kill switch or something, I swear-" Gordon stared.

"You'll what? Kill us? Turn us in? Either way, it's a lose-lose situation. Say you turn us in. What exactly will you tell the cops, huh?" Brad asked.

"Excuse me, officer, these two men are the accomplices of an accomplice of the Jigsaw Killer?" Ryan tried, laughing.

"And say you kill us. That's not a very smart idea. See, if we die, then your precious CSI's are as good as dead, too. We've linked these heart rate watches to some carbon monoxide pumps in the ventilation shafts of the building the CSI's are at. Our hearts stop, the monitors send out the signal to the pumps, and the place goes up in gas." Brad explained.

"You wouldn't." Gordon dared.

"Oh, yes we would." Ryan said, slowly grabbing a knife on the table behind him. The move went completely unnoticed by Gordon.

"Why. Why can't you understand what you're doing is wrong? Why don't you see that this is far beyond the mission I've been trying to teach you?" Gordon asked, becoming almost…sad.

"We've been through this, Gordon. We understand your precious mission." Ryan said, still clutching the knife in one hand behind his back.

They heard a grunt and saw that Hoffman was starting to come around. Gordon produced a syringe and injected Hoffman, who passed out before he even woke up.

"So, what are you going to do to him?" Brad asked.

"I'm going to deal with him. Then I'm going to deal with you." Gordon said, starting to awkwardly drag Hoffman by his feet.

"Wait." Brad said, taking a couple steps towards his mentor. Gordon sighed, like he knew it was a bad idea to stop, but did so. "What if we free the CSI's right now? Would you…forgive us?" Brad asked.

"Five minutes ago, you two were itching to let me let you continue your little game. Now you say you'll stop it, just like that? I'm not stupid." Gordon said, continuing to drag Hoffman away.

Brad turned to look at Ryan. "No, you're not." he said, giving a barely-noticeable nod. Ryan lunged forward with the knife, prepared to stab Gordon, but was abruptly spun from behind, and while he was a tad disoriented, stabbed in the chest. Ryan looked up in confusion at Brad, barely feeling the blood soaking through his shirt. As he fell, feeling each breath as if he were inhaling hot embers, Brad kneeled down next to him and pushed the knife in further.

"Sorry, man, but I'm with Gordon." he said. Ryan tried to say something, probably 'why?' or 'fuck you!', but all that came out was a gurgled choke before his quick death arrived.


	8. Chapter 8: Pieces

Chapter 8: Pieces

(Brass)

"_Congratulations, Mr. Brass, you survived. Most people take their lives for granted, but not you_."

'_That's it?_' he thought, still holding the tape player. '_I just flash-steamed my back and have severe steam burns from the sixty-second exposure! Then I crawled to the door with ten seconds to spare and played the tape. And all I get is some 'you survived' bullshit?_' he thought angrily, throwing open the door. He immediately regretted the action as his blistered back screamed at the sudden movement of his shoulder blades underneath the tender skin.

He stepped out of the room and immediately fell face-first onto the floor. Wincing and cursing, he pushed himself up and got onto his feet, turning around to look at what he tripped over. His heart skipped a beat as he saw a red tricycle lying on the ground, on its side. _The_ red tricycle. The one from the Jigsaw murders and was supposed to be in evidence!

He moved down the hall, taking a fifty-fifty chance and heading left. He saw something in the middle of the hallway and inspected. Shards of red glass, like the kind from the lightbar of a police car, formed an arrow pointing towards him, back the way he came. An even twelve inches away was another arrow fashioned from blue glass, pointing down the hall, away from him.

He decided to continue down the hall and found a blue 'X' painted on a door. He cracked it open and peered inside, checking for a trip wire or other kind of booby trap. Seeing none, he gently pushed the door open the rest of the way.

"Woah." was all he could utter before his jaw fell slack. The floor was littered in garbage, and the stench was sickly sweet; pungent, but not overwhelming.

Hanging from a meat hook suspended from the ceiling was his gun. He walked through the clutter of litter and plucked up his gun, then checked for ammo and was surprised to find half a clip of bullets remaining. He huffed and returned the gun to his holster.

Impaled on the meat hook was a note, which he removed and opened. Scrawled across the page in black ink read the words: HERE'S A PIECE OF THE PUZZLE, JAMES. RONALD E. WORGNEC.

"Who is Ronald Worgnec?" he asked aloud, looking around the room for clues. All he could see were candy wrappers, pizza boxes, soda bottles, beer bottles, Styrofoam cups…pretty common garbage.

He left the room and decided to see where the red arrow would lead him.

(Brad)

After helping Gordon load Hoffman into the car, he drove. He wasn't sure where he was going, but he followed his mentor's directions.

"When we're done with him, I'll take you to the current game. We'll let them all go, I promise. Just…don't be mad at me." he said, practically begged. Gordon remained silent, speaking only to give directions.

They soon arrived at some no-tell motel. "What are we doing here?" he asked, but Gordon didn't reply. They silently opened the passenger door and Gordon unlocked one of the motel's rooms. They carried Hoffman inside and set him down on the floor. The man stirred, but remained unconscious.

"What now?" he asked, looking to Gordon for answers.

"Now I end this." Gordon said, heading back to the car. As he watched the trunk be opened, a hand pressed against his mouth, preventing him from making a sound.

"Once a Lawrence Gordon groupie, always a Lawrence Gordon groupie, I guess." Hoffman said, his breath hot against his cheek. Another hand latched onto the back of his head and as he realized what was about to happen, his neck was effortlessly broken.

(Greg)

Every hobbled half-step he took with Grissom not only hurt like hell due to the severed handcuffs rubbing against his crushed hand and foot, but the broken chains also jingled softly, which was fine at first, but now it was just annoying.

"I sound like a wind chime." he said, hoping to elicit a chuckle out of his boss, but all he got was a huff, and he knew why.

"Grissom, come on, you can't blame yourself for what happened. You want someone to blame? Blame the bastards who put us here!" he said, trying to ignore the knives stabbing up his leg.

They passed another security camera as they moved down the hall.

"How many cameras do they have in this place?" he wondered out loud.

"So far, I've seen thirteen." Grissom replied.

"Oh. Good, someone's keeping count." he said, not expecting an actual answer. They saw a shadow quickly dart by a window up ahead and they stopped.

"Did something just fall in-" he started, but they heard a scream of pain outside the window. They hurried over to it as fast as they could, looking up to the tiny window.

"Will you be okay if I let you go?" Grissom asked.

"Yeah." he answered. As Grissom moved away, he balanced himself by putting his good hand on the wall. Grissom had already grabbed a rotted-looking wooden chair from a pile of junk down the hall and tested its strength as he cautiously stood on it. It didn't collapse, so he used the chair to look out the window with ease.

"Oh my god. It's Archie." Grissom said.

"Archie? Is he alive?" Greg asked, fearing for his colleague's safety.

"Yeah. He's alive. His leg's broken, but he's moving around." Grissom replied, picking up the bolt cutters and smashing the window. The glass shattered and Greg heard a gasp behind the wall.

"Archie!" Grissom yelled.

"Grissom?" Archie replied.

He could tell Archie was in a terrible amount of pain from his voice alone.

"How are you doing?" Grissom asked.

"Fine…okay, I guess, under the circumstances." Archie replied.

"Do you think you can get out of here?" Grissom asked.

"Yeah, I think so." Archie answered, through gritted teeth, it sounded. "Have you seen anyone else?"

"Greg's with me. You're the first person I've seen since finding him." Grissom replied.

"And you're both okay?" Archie asked, letting out a small gasp of pain as he tried to move his leg.

"I'm fine, but Greg's hurt. Listen, Archie, there are some buildings about a quarter mile behind you. It's pretty dark out, but there could still be people there." Grissom said.

"Then that's where I'll go. I'll send help guys, I promise." Archie replied.

Grissom remained on the chair for a minute before stepping down. At first Greg thought he had imagined it, but after a second look, he definitely saw it. Grissom was smiling.


	9. Chapter 9: Smells Like Team Spirit

Chapter 9: Smells Like Teen Spirit

(Hodges)

He could smell three different kinds of mold in the pitch black room. It also smelled damp, and he sneezed.

"Who's there? Turn on the lights!" a terrified voice yelled.

"David? Is that you?" another voice asked.

"Doc? Yeah, it's me." David replied.

"David Hodges is here too, folks." he spoke up.

"Who else is here?" David asked. They listened, but no one else replied.

"I guess it's just us." he said.

"Is anyone hurt?" Doc asked.

"No, I'm just handcuffed to a heater." David replied.

"Handcuffed to what I think is a sink here." he said.

"I'm handcuffed, too. Feels like a vent." Doc chimed in.

A TV turned on in the corner of the room, illuminating the area. Everyone looked around at their surroundings to the drone of static. Doc was in fact handcuffed to a vent, David to a heater, and Hodges was actually cuffed to the inside of a toilet tank.

"We're in a girl's bathroom." David realized.

Hodges was able to see David's and the Doc's feet, but that was all due to the stall door being closed.

The TV suddenly stopped producing static, but it still gave off light.

"What do you see?" he asked, trying to look under the stall.

"There's a man." David said.

"Hello Albert Robbins, David Phillips, and David Hodges. It's time for you to play our game. The three of you may not have direct ties to the murders your coworkers commit, but without you, the perpetrators may have lived. We know that rapists and murderers need to be put away, but how can you stand working with your colleagues every night, knowing that half of them have used deadly force? The tests ahead will see if you have what it takes for redemption. You must find your key and release yourself, first. Then you must follow your designated path. If you manage to save a friend along the way, then you will be forgiven, as will they. The purpose of our game is not to punish, as many of you may think. The purpose is to learn the errors of your ways, of our justice system's ways. Those of you who survive can take these lessons with you. Learn to change the legal system from within. That way, people like us will be seen as the victim, not the perp. Where was the justice when we were forced to commit crimes we did not want to? Perhaps justice should be more like these games, don't you think? Survive, and you are instantly absolved of your sins. That's the nail in the coffin today. Before you begin, we'll give you a slight advantage to find your keys. Open your eyes."

The TV clicked off and the room became dark again.

"Open your eyes? How will that help if we can't see anything?" he asked, patting around the base of the toilet for a key.

"Who cares, let's just get out of here. Those guys are obviously whackjobs." David said.

"Agreed." Doc said.

Hodges felt around the inside of the toilet tank and couldn't get a key. Not really wanting to, he opened the bowl of the toilet, gagging at the smell.

"Smells like decomp." Doc mumbled. Hodges stuck his hand in the bowl, trying to ignore the things he felt floating in the water. He finally grabbed something small, metal, and key-shaped, and pulled his hand out. He quickly unchained himself, laughing.

"Guys, I'm out!" he cheered, walking forward. He smacked right into the stall door and backed away, holding his nose.

"Ow…" he groaned, sitting on the toilet. He then remembered the mysterious floaters in the water and shot up, holding a hand out as he walked.

"I'm out. And Doc, I found your cane." David said.

"Thanks. Give me a second. I just found my key." the medical examiner said. A metallic 'click' was heard as Hodges slowly walked around the bathroom. He found a door handle and opened the door, letting in a dim, yet bright light. The three of them left the bathroom and saw two arrows. One pointed left, with the initials A.R. The other pointed right, with the initials D.P. and D.H.

"Well, I guess this is where we part ways." Hodges said uncomfortably.

"Are you sure that's a good idea? We could be going into a trap." David said.

"That man said our friends are in danger. We can't risk their lives." Doc said. The three silently said goodbye as they went down their separate paths

(David)

He soon had to leave Hodges, wishing him luck as he did so. He checked every door he passed, hoping to find something useful, but every door was a bust. He was forced to head up a flight of stairs and saw Sara bound to a chair at the top.

"Sara? Oh my god-" he started, running up the stairs.

"Get me out of this thing." she said, struggling against her restraints.

"Okay, um…okay, um…" he rambled, looking at the device on the back of the chair. Her hair was tied in a knot around some sort of rod, and there were gears surrounding the rod. As he looked, the gears started to rotate, pulling the rod down. Sara's neck continued to crane back until the gears stopped.

"It's been doing this every minute for the past five." she explained, panicked, but trying not to show it.

"Was there a message saying what to do?" he asked, trying to look away from the machine.

"Over there." Sara said, pointing to the left with one of her fingers. He looked over and saw the word 'HERE' on a door, quickly running over and opening it. The lights automatically turned on and he saw some papers on the table in the middle of the room.

He hurried over and saw a diagram of Sara's trap, along with sketches of its gruesome outcome. There was also a note telling him that she had ten minutes until her neck was broken, and after every minute, the gears would pull her head back. It continued on to say the only way to save her would be to shed their blood.

"Oh no way." he said, slowly picking up the nail gun.

(Hoffman)

After Brad's body fell to the floor, he quickly assessed his surroundings and saw the doctor closing the trunk of the car. Even in the dark of night, he could see the silencer-equipped side arm in the man's hand. He quickly moved into the closet, keeping it open a crack. Lawrence Gordon cautiously approached Brad's body, looking rather antsy.

His back was to him. Now was the time to strike.

"Oh no…" Gordon whispered as Hoffman silently pushed the door open.

"The pumps!" he hissed, spinning around and bumping right into Hoffman.

He easily snatched the gun away. "There are no pumps. I told them to tell you that to scare you." he said, pistol whipping Gordon.

The cripple crashed to the floor, trying to reach his cane, and Hoffman grabbed it at the last second.

"There's more to torture than just physical pain. Emotions can run high and cause the same panic that any of John's traps could." he said, throwing the cane out the door while keeping the gun trained on the doctor.

"So, what…you'll kill me, let those innocent people die, and then what? Sail off into the sunset?" Gordon asked.

"That's only partly correct." he said, shooting Gordon in the shoulder.

Gordon's hand shot up to his bloodied upper arm as he fell back, groaning.

"I'm not going to kill you, I'm not going to let them die if I can help it, and I don't have a boat." he said, smiling.


	10. Chapter 10: Pieces, part two

Chapter 10: Pieces, part two

(Nick)

"How could we not have found an exit by now?" Mandy asked.

" 'Cause this place is a labyrinth." he replied, trying not to worry about Catherine dying after every dead end and locked door they came across. Warrick was growing increasingly frustrated as he led everyone along, and time seemed to be dragging on.

"Okay, we're not lost. We are not lost." Warrick said, and Nick wasn't sure if he was trying to reassure the others, or himself.

If there was one thing he needed right now, it was a shower. Catherine's dried blood was all over his clothes, hands, and neck, and he felt like bugs were crawling on him ever since Warrick rescued him.

"Guys, I…I need to rest." Catherine spoke up, looking pale.

"No, come on now, we're almost out of here." he said, lying through his teeth.

"Nicky, please. Just for a minute." she weakly protested. He shared a worried look with Warrick before gently setting her on the floor, like she was made of glass.

"I'm not sure how much…longer I can take this, guys." she said, trying to smile through a wince of pain. "If I don't make it, tell…tell Lindsey…" she started, tears in her eyes.

"Stop. No one else is gonna die in here. You hear me, Catherine? No one. Not you, not me." he said, shaking his head in anger and fear.

They heard footsteps down the hall perpendicular to theirs. The steps were heavy and labored, but quick.

"Get down." Warrick commanded, brandishing the rebar. Nick and Mandy obeyed, the former shielding the latter and Catherine.

"It's probably one of us, but just to be safe…" Warrick whispered, his back against the wall as he neared the edge of the corner. As he turned the edge of the corner, he stopped his attack mid swing. "Jesus! I almost killed you!"

Nick and Mandy exchanged a glance before Warrick's voice rounded the corner: "Guys, it's okay. It's just Brass."

Mandy stood up quickly and Nick put Catherine's arm around his neck as he pulled her up. Warrick and Brass came around the corner, looking uneasy.

"Are you guys alright?" Jim asked worriedly.

"No. Not really." Mandy replied.

"Good to see you, Jim." he said with a small nod.

"Likewise. I'm sorry, I'm just a little preoccu…woah, Catherine, are you-" Brass started.

"She's fine." he interrupted.

"What happened to your back?" Warrick asked Brass.

"Nothing a little aloe vera can't fix up." Brass replied.

"Have you seen anyone else?" Mandy asked. Brass shook his head, looking down.

"Hey guys!" an excited voice called. The group turned to see Doc and Henry. The two groups merged and the damage to their friends became more apparent.

"Doc says I have second-degree frostbite." Henry said.

"Are you gonna be okay?" Nick asked.

"Oh, yeah, yeah. It's just a flesh wound." Henry said.

"Doc, you okay?" Warrick asked.

"I'm fine, nary a scratch on me. Besides, it's Catherine I'm more concerned about." Doc Robbins said.

"I must not be doing that great if you're worried about me." Catherine remarked softly.

"The bleeding's stopped, but you look like you lost a couple pints. How are you feeling? Tired?" the older man gently asked.

"A little." she said.

"She's nearly passed out three times already." Nick said.

"What about nausea, fever, rapid pulse or breathing? Any of those? I need to know." Doc urged.

"She's been burning up, and her heart rate's pretty fast." he admitted.

"Dammit!" Doc hissed.

"What's wrong?" Brass asked.

"I won't sugarcoat this. Catherine, you've got sepsis. If we don't get help soon, you'll go into septic shock." the older man diagnosed.

The diagnosis shocked everyone, to say the least.

"The rest of you still run the risk of infection. Even you, Warrick." Doc added.

"Well this blows." Warrick mumbled after a mournful look at Catherine.

"Jim, can I get a better look at your burns?" Doc asked.

"Sure." Brass complied, though he sounded uncomfortable.

As his back was examined, Nick couldn't help but stare. His mind flash-backed to the time Greg was in that lab explosion. Brass's back wasn't nearly as badly burned, and wouldn't scar as much as Greg's back, but the similarities were present. With one glance at Catherine, he could tell she was having the same thoughts and memories.

"It's a good thing you didn't try to remove your shirt. Could have ripped some skin off if you did." Doc informed.

"At least there's some good news." Catherine spoke.

"How long do we have until she could go into septic shock?" Nick asked, putting the attention on Catherine again.

"It' impossible to tell, but judging by your injuries, Catherine, I can only say there isn't much time." Doc admitted.

"That's perfect." Warrick muttered angrily.

"Well then let's haul ass and get out of here." Nick urged.

"I second that notion." Mandy said, raising her hand.

"Come on." Warrick said, again leading the way.

"Hey, do any of you know a guy named Ronald Worgnec?" Brass asked after they passed another locked door.

"Huh-uh. Why?" Nick asked.

"I found a note earlier. Said this Ronald guy was a piece of the puzzle." Brass said.

"Never heard of him." Mandy said.

"Me neither." Henry chimed in.

"His middle name wouldn't begin with an 'e' or have an 'e' in it, would it?" Doc asked.

"It was initialed with 'E.'. Why?" Brass asked.

"I went to school with Adam Heffner many, many years ago. He's a medical examiner as well. Anyways, he performed the autopsies on all of the Jigsaw Killer's victims and was friends with one of them, a doctor, who went missing for a year." Doc explained.

"Yeah, yeah, I remember that. He was Jigsaw's doctor. Lawrence Gordon." Nick remembered.

"So what does he have to do with this Ronald guy?" Brass asked.

"Everything. Ronald E. Worgnec is an anagram for Lawrence Gordon." Doc clarified.

"So you're saying he's the one who did this?" Warrick asked.

"I never knew him that well, but Adam seemed to trust him. He never seemed like a killer." the doc said.

"Maybe it's Stockholm Syndrome." Nick suggested.

"Or the guy was also recruited as an accomplice. We know Jigsaw's had a couple." Brass threw in.

"Either way, there's more than one person doing this. My tape kept saying 'we' instead of 'I'." Warrick said.

"Mine too." Brass added.

"So we still don't know who else is doing this." Catherine said, trying to remain clear-headed.

"Or maybe there is only one guy, and he's saying 'we' and 'our' to make us think there are multiple people. For all we know, Lawrence Gordon is innocent, or dead, and that note was set up to lead us in the wrong direction." Doc said.

"Nick, put me down." Catherine suddenly requested, sounding urgent.

"You okay?" Nick asked.

"Just put me down. I…" Catherine turned her head away and vomited, meekly apologizing after she wiped her mouth.

"We've got to go." Doc said, looking worried.

The group quickened their pace as they continued on, praying they would find a way out. As they moved down another corridor, they ran into David. The smile that formed on Nick's face vanished immediately when he saw Super Dave's tear-streaked face, and what appeared to be nails embedded in left shoulder area.

"David, what happened? Are you okay?" Doc asked.

"I did everything I was supposed to, but it didn't work." David said.

"You're not making any sense." Nick said.

"I'm…I'm s-sorry." David choked out.

"David, what happened?" Catherine asked as Doc approached David.

"I did everything right, but she died anyways. I'm…I'm sorry…"David said, putting a hand over his eyes.

"David?" Warrick asked, starting to look scared. What was David so rattled about? WHO DIED?

"Sara's dead…I'm sorry!" David said, crying again.

Everyone froze, dumbfounded. Sara…dead? No, that…that couldn't be! She had to be okay! She had to be!

* * *

A/N: Yes, I know…I'm one evil bitch. Sorry, Sara fans…I needed one of the CSI's dead, and the reason for her death will be explained in the next chapter. Please don't hate me!


	11. Chapter 11: A Reason for Everything

Chapter 11: A Reason for Everything

(Lawrence Gordon)

He awoke back in the surveillance room of the base he used with Brad and Ryan. His shoulder ached and burned, and he quickly realized he was tied to a chair. He looked around for Hoffman, but couldn't see him, so he tried to loosen his bindings – having no success.

"You're not going anywhere." Hoffman's voice said from behind him. He turned his head and was barely able to see the rival accomplice close the door as he entered the room.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Hoffman?" he asked, trying to figure out a way to escape.

"I'm only claiming what's mine. I'm obviously the one who should continue John's work. Jill's dead, your two lackeys are dead, and soon…very soon, you'll be dead. Once you're out of the picture, I'll release the crime scene investigators…if any are still alive." Hoffman said, motioning to the screens.

He looked at each screen, watching three separate groups struggle through the building. Three of the screens showed dead bodies.

"How many innocent people are going to die while you're screwing with me?" he asked, looking back to Hoffman.

"First of all, these two bodies here," Hoffman began, pointing to one of the screens, "from what I gathered from Brad and Ryan, were convicted killers. This guy here," he tapped another screen, "could have survived if his friends didn't get lost. And the girl, her death is on you." Hoffman accused.

"What?" he asked, shocked at the accusation.

"There's a reason for everything here, doctor. Or should I say ex-doctor? The girl was alive before you decided to become king of the castle. She was supposed to be released if her friend did what he was supposed to do. Judging by the nails sticking in her leg, I'd say the deed was done. Now, if you hadn't gone ape-shit earlier and kidnapped me…_again_, someone could have remotely released her from the chair, and she'd be alive." Hoffman explained.

"You can't blame me…" he started.

"I can, and you know it!" Hoffman cut in, near yelling.

"So, what, you're trying to teach me some kind of lesson?" he asked.

"Exactly. I never knew what John saw in you. You failed your game. You were supposed to kill that Adam guy, and you didn't. You should've been left in that basement to rot. Instead, John saved you, said you were special. 'Special'. You don't deserve another chance! I survived my test. Got this to prove it." Hoffman said, lightly tapping his facial scar.

"You want to test me, is that it?" he asked.

"Yes. I told you I wasn't going to kill you, Lawrence, and I meant it. Unlike Jill, your vendetta against me isn't personal, it's professional, so I'll give you one chance, and one chance only, to regain your life. The way John taught us." Hoffman said.

"I thought you said I didn't deserve another chance." he said, trying to twist Hoffman's words against him.

"You don't, not by a long shot. However, it seems like whenever I put someone in an inescapable trap, I pay the price. So this time, I'll do it the old fashioned way." Hoffman taunted, putting his hands on the back of the chair.

(Archie)

The stabbing pains of his broken leg flared every time he dragged himself forward an inch along the ground. The sky was now that weird brownish-purple color that signaled the coming of the rising sun. As it neared dawn, Archie found himself able to see more than dark blobs among the even darker surroundings. He was definitely able to see the buildings Grissom had pointed out earlier, so he crawled forward faster along the ground now that he knew where he was going.

There were only two buildings besides the one behind him, and they both looked abandoned as well. He couldn't recognize the area. Were they still even in Vegas? Nevertheless, he continued to pull himself towards the abandoned-looking buildings. He might run into someone, or see a car.

He soon found himself looking at a seedy motel. The closest room's door was open, so he moved closer to it with haste, wincing and moaning the entire way. Once he saw the body on the ground, however, he hung his head and changed course. Every other room had a locked door, most likely unoccupied due to the lack of cars in the parking lot…just his luck!

He decided to check the office; the owner had to be in there, or the house up ahead. The lights were on in the office, and the door was ajar, so he decided on the office. Once he finally arrived at the office, he pushed the door open, calling for help. His call stopped in his throat as he spotted another body on the ground. This one was a woman, but also a brunette…maybe the girlfriend or wife of the man in the last room? Both rooms had no blood, and the angles of their necks suggested C.O.D. was a broken neck.

As he slowly maneuvered himself to leave, he noticed a note taped to the door, which read 'better luck next time'. Whoever was doing this was taunting him.

"Freak." he muttered, followed by a groan of frustration as he again dragged himself over the gravel. He knew his friends needed him to find help!

He was so lost in his thoughts that he almost missed the oncoming headlights. A car was coming!

"Hey!" he yelled, scrabbling across the parking lot as fast as his broken leg would allow. The car slowed as it neared the motel.

"Help!" he called, waving a hand wildly. The car turned into the parking lot, adding to his confidence that he had found help. The headlights were aiming right at him, and he ws forced to shield his eyes as the car idled.

"Hello?" he called out, wondering what the driver was doing.

'_Maybe he's calling 9-1-1_.' he thought, reassuring himself.

The driver's door opened and a man stepped out, slowly approaching him.

"You have to help. My friends, they're trapped in the abandoned building across the street. We were kidnapped!" he said, trying to get a better look at the man.

"Sure, sure. I'll get you some help." the man said, bending down to help Archie into the car. As he was being dragged away, he could tell the man was trying to be mindful of the broken leg, and would apologize if he moved him the wrong way.

He was put into the passenger seat with ease and the man returned to the driver's seat.

"Have you called 9-1-1?" he asked.

"No." the man replied.

He looked at the man, able to get a better look at his savior, but it was still hard to get a complete look as black spots started dancing in his vision.

"Congratulations. You survived. Now you just sit tight until I take care of an…well, let's call him an old friend." the man said.

"What are…" Archie was feeling like he was about to pass out, and was able to glimpse a scar on the man's right cheek before the darkness completely overlapped his vision.

(Mandy)

Her legs were sore from walking, but she didn't complain. She wouldn't. Half of her coworkers were a hundred times worse than she was, so she bit her tongue whenever she felt the urge to whine about her sore feet. She started to think that maybe they'd never get out of this place. They've been here for what felt like days!

There weren't many windows, and those they came across seemed to be unbreakable. They tried debris, bullets, nothing worked…the windows were bullet proof, shatter proof in every sense of the word.

They had passed Bobby's body recently…that was one image she never wanted to see again.

"Woah, hold up guys." Warrick spoke up, holding up hand as he stopped.

"What is it?" Nick asked.

"This door was locked before." Warrick replied, cautiously approaching an open door.

"Are you sure?" Mandy asked. Warrick turned and gave her a look that said 'are you serious?'

The group moved into the unknown room, gawking at its contents. Two bodies, both male, were hanging from their feet, which were impaled on meat hooks; one for each ankle.

"Oh my god…" Mandy said, looking away.

Warrick, David, and Doc Robbins moved closer to examine the bodies.

"Both men appear to be in their mid to late twenties." Doc Robbins commented.

"This one has a broken neck. C.O.D. on the other one is pretty obvious." David said.

"Dude has a knife stuck in his chest." Warrick commented.

"Whoever did this had a pretty big bone to pick with these to." Nick said.

"You think?" Mandy asked.

"Educated guess." Nick replied, looking up at the ceiling.

Mandy did so, along with everyone else, even the extremely sickly-looking Catherine. Painted on the ceiling, in what was most likely blood, was a very unsettling message, reading 'CROSS ME ONCE, SHAME ON YOU'.

She didn't want to know what would happen if you crossed this psychopath twice.


	12. Chapter 12: Keys

Chapter 12: Keys

(Hodges)

He followed his designated path all the way to its designation, a locked door.

"Seriously?" he complained to no one in particular.

As he looked around for a solution, an idea dawned on him. He reached into his pants pocket and removed the key that unlocked his hand cuffs. It slid perfectly into the lock and he opened the door.

"Oh my god! Wendy!" he yelled, staring in shock at the DNA tech.

"Hodges!" she screamed, terror shining in her eyes. He entered the room, staring at the device Wendy was restrained to…it looked like a large waffle iron. There was a tape player on the floor, and he played it.

"_Glad to see you found your way, David Hodges. It seems to us like your girlfriend here has found herself in a predicament, and it is up to you to save the damsel in distress. The device she is attached to is also connected to the lock box on the floor. To save Wendy, you must unlock the box and power down the device_."

"What?" he asked, looking to the box on the ground.

"_The key to her salvation is in this room, but be careful_." the tape continued. "_Every incorrect insertion will result in an electric shock, which will intensify in length, voltage, and amperage every time the wrong key is inserted. We wish you the best of luck, for she is very beautiful, and it would be a shame for her to die at your hands. Let the game begin_."

"Get me out of here! Please, Hodges!" Wendy cried.

"I will, I will! I promise you." he replied, looking around for a key. He spotted a tile on the floor that was broken at one of its corners. He quickly tore off the tile and looked down a small hole. It was too dark to see anything, inside, so he reached down and pulled out another box. He opened it and found dozens of keys inside, possibly hundreds!

"There's no way I can try all of these without killing you!" he blurted, frantically looking up at Wendy.

"You have to try! Hodges, you have to!" she pleaded desperately. He returned to the lockbox and picked up a random key.

"Luck of the draw?" he asked, glancing up at Wendy.

"Sure." she said, on the verge of tears.

He looked at the key he had tightly gripped in his hand. "Please work." he quietly prayed, inserting the key. It barely went in the lock and Wendy gasped in pain.

"Oh god, are you okay?" he asked, his heart pounding.

"Yeah, I'm…it wasn't that bad." she said, taking a shaky breath.

"I can't do this. I can't hurt you like this." he said, tossing the key away like it was poisoned.

"You have to! We don't know what will happen if you don't." she said.

He readied himself and tried another key, cringing as he heard Wendy yelp.

"I'm sorry." he apologized, swallowing to try and moisten his dry mouth.

"I know you are. Keep trying." she said. He simply looked at her, wondering why she wasn't freaking out.

"I can handle it." she said, almost like she had read his mind. He grabbed another key and it only slid in about halfway.

"No!" he yelled out in fear and anger, watching as Wendy was electrocuted again, trying not to cry out. He tried another key and Wendy was again shocked.

"I can't do this anymore!" he yelled, throwing the key aside.

"Hodges, look at me." Wendy said, her voice having a pained tone that sounded like nails on a chalkboard to him. He didn't want to look at her, but he did.

"You have to. You need to." she said.

"I could kill you." he replied, his mouth agape at her request.

"You can save me!" she countered, still trying to catch her breath. He looked at the box of keys and dumped it onto the floor. He quickly snatched up the last key he used, which had gone in the farthest, and began separating the pile.

"Yeah, that's it! Good!" Wendy cheered, getting his idea. There were a dozen or so keys that had a similar pattern like the one he had used.

"I don't think you can survive all of these." he said.

"You have to try! Maybe you'll get lucky." she said.

'Nice word choice.' he thought, slowly trying one of the keys. He could feel sweat forming on his brow, and he prayed this key would work.

The familiar electrical hum became more pronounced and Wendy screamed, her eyes squeezing shut as her body jerked against the restraints. This shock was lasting long…longer than the others…too long.

When it stopped, Wendy remained still, her eyes closed, her body limp.

"Wendy?" he called, feeling his pulse quicken in fear. She didn't reply and he moved to the waffle iron thing.

"W-Wendy?" he repeated softly, feeling as if his heart had stopped. The device was still active, so he couldn't check her pulse without getting electrocuted, and he hated it. He looked around the room, noticing the camera watching them. He wanted to scream and throw something at it, but he was too emotionally spent to do anything. Wendy could still be alive, but he couldn't do anything to save her; another wrong key would result in certain death if she wasn't dead already.

"Wait a minute." he said, looking back at the door he had come through. "The key! _The_ key!"

He ran to the door, removed the key, and returned to the lock box on the floor. Crouching in front of it, he cautiously slid the key in, ecstatic when it went in all the way and clicked. He turned it and the lock popped open.

"Yes! Thank you!" he breathed, opening the box. There was an on/off switch, like a light switch. He flicked it to 'off' and could hear the device power down. His body was starting to come off the adrenaline and he exhaled a nervous discharge from the sudden stop of secreting glands. He went to the device Wendy was still attached to and tentatively tapped it, relieved it was incapable of shocking him, and undid her bindings.

He checked for a pulse and let out the breath he had been holding when he found one. It was rapid and irregular, but it was there.

"Come on, Wendy. Please wake up. Please be okay." he whispered, cupping her face in his hands,

(Grissom)

"Do you think Archie's okay?" Greg asked, breaking the silence as they wandered around the halls.

"He's fine, Greg." Grissom replied.

"What if there was no help at those buildings you saw? What if something happened to him?" Greg asked.

"Greg!" he snapped, a little harshly. The two stopped, forced to look at each other.

"I'm sorry. Archie is fine. He's probably found help long ago and Brass knows, and he's sending half the force out here." he said in a much calmer tone.

"Unless Brass is trapped here, too. Who knows who else is in this death trap." Greg added. Grissom didn't want to think about who else could be stuck here, and what they were going through.

Greg suddenly hissed in pain and the duo stopped their barely-started advance forward.

"What is it?" he asked, looking for a sudden spurt of blood, or a rash to suddenly appear.

"It's nothing. Pain is normal in a broken bone." Greg replied, trying to avoid a potentially fatal situation.

The kid probably hadn't meant to, but those words hit him hard, making him feel even more guilty than before.

"Let's sit you down." he said, lowering Greg to the floor.

"Griss, I'm fine." Greg insisted.

"Besides the pain and swelling, what else have you noticed about your hand or foot?" he asked after seeing no other wounds.

"I got that pins and needles feeling going up my leg." Greg said after a small, hesitant pause. "y arm is fine, but my hand just felt like it was on fire." he continued.

"Damn…" Grissom muttered under his breath. "I was afraid of this."

"What? What is it?" Greg asked, looking more worried.

"Compartment Syndrome." he replied, closing his eyes briefly.

"Shit…okay, best case scenario, what? I can still do my job?" Greg asked.

He opened his eyes again, looking into Greg's fearful expression.

"Best case scenario, you get treated in time and after months of physical therapy, you can go back to work." he said, letting the diagnosis roll off his tongue.

"And the worst case?" Greg asked after a pause.

'_I wish you hadn't asked that_.' he thought, looking away for a microsecond. "Worst case scenario, you're arm and leg will have to be amputated…I'm sorry." he sadly said, placing a firm, but hopefully reassuring hand on his younger coworker's shoulder. The kid looked lost, like he was about to cry.

"No…I'm going to be fine. I'll bounce back, Grissom. I always have." Greg assured as a tear slid down his cheek.

"Then let's get the hell out of here. Whenever you need to stop and take a break, Greg, you tell me. Understand?" he asked, putting Greg's arm around his neck.

"Crystal clear, boss." Greg replied.

He lifted Greg to his feet…well, foot, and they continued to hobble down the never-ending hallway. A noise was softly bouncing off the walls, and they stopped yet again.

"Do you hear that?" he asked.

"Sounds like…nusic." Greg answered.

"Yeah." he agreed with a small nod. They followed the tune and found its source.

"It's coming from behind this door." Grissom said, cautiously pushing it open with the bolt cutters he still kept with him.

A single light bulb flickered on, and the two of them laid eyes on a man shackled to the wall. Static and feedback whined through the tiny room, waking the man, and ending the music. Grissom noticed an older type of INTERCOM in one corner, and yet another camera in a different corner.

"Hello, Lawrence Gordon." a voice said over the speaker. This voice, unlike the ones on the TV and tapes, wasn't garbled by a voice changer.

"No way." Greg exclaimed.

'_Lawrence Gordon's been alive all this time_?' he thought, watching the Jigsaw survivor curiously.

"I'd like you to meet two of the seventeen people your accomplices abducted while you were locking me away." the voice said as Lawrence Gordon tried to struggle free. "Resistance won't do you any good. That sedative gave me enough time to triple-check the room for any ways of escape. See, unlike you, I play the games the way we were meant to."

The chained Jigsaw survivor groaned as he gave up pulling on the chain.

"Do you remember our talk earlier? I told you I wasn't going to kill you." the mysterious man behind the INTERCOM continued.

"Yeah, I remember. You also said you were going to give me a chance!" Lawrence yelled at the camera.

"I'm a man of my word, Lawrence. The choice won't be up to me, though. It's up to…Mr. Grissom, and Mr. Sanders. Now, before you go ahead and cut his chains with those bolt cutters, Gilbert, you and Gregory should know something. Mr. Dawson, and Ms. Sidle are dead, and Lawrence here is responsible for their deaths…Let the game begin."


	13. Chapter 13: Endgame

A/N: Final chapter. I hope you all will enjoy how I bring this to a close!

* * *

Chapter 13: Endgame

(Lawrence Gordon)

"Mr. Dawson, and Ms. Sidle are dead, and Lawrence here is responsible for their deaths…Let the game begin." Hoffman said.

"You son of a bitch! You said you were giving me a chance! You said this was my game! Jill was right about you, Hoffman! You're just a rabid dog that needs to be put down!" he yelled, panting from his outburst.

"Is that really what you think?" Hoffman replied, laughing in an almost light-hearted manner. "That skank deserves to be in hell with her ex-husband. What John started, it's not working. People aren't learning." Hoffman said, and a click was heard as the speaker was deactivated.

He slowly looked at the two men before him; their faces showed many emotions ranging from pain, to heartbreak, to rage.

"Listen, before you do anything drastic, you need to know that…" he started to explain.

"Shut up!" the bolt-cutter-wielding man snapped.

"I'm a victim here, same as you." he said, tugging at his wrist restraints as memories of Adam and the bathroom flashed before his eyes.

"You endangered the lives of seventeen people! Two of them are dead. They don't deserve it. They were good people." the other man declared.

"I had nothing to do with that." he said, hoping they'd believe him, but knowing they wouldn't.

"That's not what the other guy aid." bolt cutter guy said.

"I can help your friend, here. He's not looking to good. I was a doctor before…all of this." he said, looking up at them. They didn't seem to trust him yet. "Let me help. That's all I've ever wanted to do was help people." he continued, trying to get some sympathy points.

"I don't need your help." the younger man said, looking down at his injured hand.

"So you think. Listen to me. Mark Hoffman, the guy who introduced us, he's not going to let you go. He enjoys brutality. He's a sadist! Let me go, and we can get out of here. I can lead you out." he said.

"I trust this mysterious speaker guy more than you right now." bolt cutter guy said.

"So that's it, huh? You're going to kill me and take your chances, which, by the way, are pretty slim?" he asked, scowling.

"I'll take those odds." the injured man said, getting a brief flash of evil in his eyes.

"Greg…" the older man started to protest.

"No! This is for Sara, for Bobby, for all of us!" Greg insisted.

"We kill him, we're no better than the criminals we put away." bolt cutter guy said.

"Grissom! Sara's dead! She's never coming back! Killing this guy is the only closure we're gonna get. No jury will convict him; he'll use some insanity plea. Are you really saying you're gonna let this…_scumbag _live another day?" Greg asked.

"Listen to your friend, Greg. I'm the only way you're going to get out of here alive." he interjected.

The two shot him a dirty look and he raised his eyebrows at them.

"Killing me won't bring your friends back. Are you willing to become the things you hunt for even a second? If you kill me, it won't change anything." he said in his defense.

"Hell yes, I'm willing! Like your buddies said, I'm a un convicted murderer." Greg snarled.

"No. We're not going to kill him, Greg. He's…he's not worth it." Grissom said.

"Not worth it?" Greg repeated incredulously.

"Yes." the man said, cutting one of the shackles.

"Grissom!" Greg persisted, keeping his good hand on the wall.

"This 'Mark Hoffman' guy is probably the reason we're alive…" Grissom started.

"Tell that to Sara and Bobby." Greg mumbled, interrupting.

Lawrence looked to his other chain, waiting for it to be cut. "What are you waiting for?"

"I've seen enough sociopaths in my line of work to recognize one by their behavior. You don't care that we're being picked off." Grissom said.

"As soon as I heard that you guys were subjects, I left to help!" he insisted.

"Regardless of your intentions to help us, I'll give you a chance. We don't kill unarmed people." Grissom said, propping the bolt cutters by the door.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"This is for Sara." Grissom said, helping his friend as they left.

* * *

He sat in silence, reaching and stretching for the bolt cutters. Flashbacks of his trap with Adam kept resurfacing in his mind. He gave up, panting in frustration as he leaned back against the wall.

Feedback emitted from the speaker before Hoffman's voice became clear.

"Looks like you live to see another day." his rival said.

"And I bet it's just eating you up inside." he said, looking up to the camera.

"Oh, on the contrary…" Hoffman replied as the door swung shut automatically.

"What are you doing?" he asked, looking from the door to the camera as he tried not to freak out.

"Remember hose carbon monoxide pumps?" Hoffman asked.

"The ones you said didn't exist? Yeah." he replied, not liking Hoffman's tone.

"I lied about Brad and Ryan's lie. You see, the pumps do in fact exist. I'm looking at the activation switch right now. The lie was about the heart rate monitors triggering the pumps' activation." Hoffman said.

He laughed, but it sounded more like a nervous chuckle to him.

"What about my game?" he asked.

"You failed. Game over." Hoffman replied, his voice full of malice as the INTERCOM was again turned off.

"No…NO!" he cried, yanking at his shackle desperately. He knew that at any given moment, he could be breathing in the colorless, odorless gas.

'_What am I supposed to do? I can't hold my breath forever_.' he thought, again reaching for the bolt cutters in the darkness of the sealed room. Within seconds, he started feeling extremely fatigued and light headed.

"No…" he groaned, feeling weaker and weaker with each heavy breath he took. The concentration of the gas must have been extremely high due to his quick-developing symptoms.

He began to feel dizzy and sick to his stomach as his eyes closed. He tried with all his might to keep them open, but the gas was taking its toll. As seconds ticked by, he could feel his organs shutting down.

He felt like he was suffocating, but was too weak to even struggle.

Out of primal instinct, he numbly tried to remove his shirt, as if it was too tight, but he couldn't achieve even that. He inhaled his last polluted breath, killing his oxygen-starved organs, and himself.

(Nick)

It could've been minutes since they left the room with the two bodies strung up by their feet, or it could've been hours. Time seemed immeasurable and unimportant under the current circumstances.

Feedback and static abruptly blared through the hall, stopping everyone in their tracks.

"Attention Crime Scene Investigators and Lab Technicians." a voice announced. It was definitely male, and unaltered unlike the voices on the tapes. "Congratulations. You have survived this far. Paramedics have been notified and will arrive at your location in a matter of minutes. I suggest you wait outside and get some air." the voice said, and every door swung open at the same time. "Know that those responsible for your capture have been dealt with. Unlike them, you all have a new understanding on life."

There was a distinct 'click' and the building was returned to silence.

Everybody looked at everyone else, amazed that they were going to make it out. Some of them ran out to the nearest door leading to the outside world, visibly happy. As Nick helped Catherine outside, the sweet sound of sirens hit his eardrums.

He watched the arriving police cars and ambulances, feeling relieved and overjoyed. As he examined their location, he saw Hodges carrying an unconscious Wendy towards them.

"Hodges!" he called.

"She's okay. She's going to be okay." Hodges replied, unable to hide the worry in his voice. Grissom and Greg also announced their presence as they emerged from the building.

'_God, who else was trapped here?_' he thought, not really wanting to know the answer.

The cavalry pulled in, and paramedics immediately took Catherine, Brass, Wendy, and Greg away. As he was being examined himself, Henry and Super Dave were taken away in another ambulance. When he was giving his statement to the police, Archie was found in a nearby car, with a nasty broken leg!

* * *

Seven gurneys were used to carry each dead body from the building. They were sealed, so Nick couldn't tell who was in them, nut he prayed they weren't all people he knew from the crime lab.

The ride to the hospital was a blur.

When he arrived, he didn't even remember leaving the abandoned factory! He cautiously stepped inside the hospital and spotted Grissom, Warrick, and Hodges nearby, and he immediately approached them. When they met, he gave each of them a much needed hug, and they shared remarks of joy that they were all okay. Doc and Mandy arrived a couple seconds later and a doctor approached the group.

Nick had a hundred questions he wanted to ask, but he waited for the medical professional to speak first.

"I'm Dr. Enthy, I'll be observing your friends and will update you on their statuses. First off, I just wanted to say that we've been informed about your ordeal…Jigsaw's accomplices. I've always been creeped out by cases like these." the doctor said, shiftily looking from them to his papers. "I've been given your friends' files, and I'll try to be as brief and thorough as I can. Starting with those who were brought in first…" Dr. Enthy flipped through some papers.

"Ms. Willows had lost a lot of blood, but was given a transfusion and is currently stable, but under observation. She was beginning to develop sepsis, but we caught it early enough, and she should pull through."

Nick sighed in relief. He knew she was going to make it, he just knew it!

"Mr. Sanders has developed a condition known as Compartment Syndrome in his hand and foot. Unfortunately, we were a little late in catching it, but we're acting fast. With a little hope and luck, he'll pull through without amputation, but if everything goes our way, he'd still have to undergo months of physical therapy to regain use of his arm and leg." Dr. Enthy continued.

'_Amputation?_' he thought worriedly, noticing a look of guilt come across Grissom's eyes. He put a reassuring hand against his boss' back, noticing the look in his eyes fade a fraction.

"Mr. Brass has been moved to the burn unit. His injuries weren't as severe as we initially thought, and he should also be fine, but he's going to spend some time here. Ms. Simms suffered some electrical burns to about twenty percent of her back. Some of the burns are more severe than others, and she'll have to remain here for a couple weeks."

Hodges sighed in relief, his hands clenched together as if in prayer.

"Now for the later arrivals." the doctor continued, flipping to another page. "I'm happy to say they'll all be released by the end of the week, if not earlier. Out of the three, Mr. Johnson will spend the longest time here. His leg break was what we call an open fracture, one that has pierced through the skin. He's still undergoing minor surgery to repair the break, but it should heal nicely. Antibiotics will destroy any infections he might have gotten while dragging his leg on the ground, too."

Everyone smiled at the good news.

"Mr. Andrews' frostbite is being treated and he'll make a full recovery within a day. Now, for the final patient, Mr. Phillips; he's also undergoing minor surgery to remove the five nails embedded in his shoulder. He will also make a full recovery within a day or two." Dr. Enthy said, closing the files. "Are there any questions?"

"When can we see them?" Grissom asked.

"I'm afraid Mr. Andrews is the only one able to accept visitors at the time, but I'll be happy to take you to his room." the doctor answered.

* * *

As they were visiting with Henry, Nick noticed that Mandy had fallen asleep.

'_Poor girl. Even asleep, she looks exhausted._' he thought sadly. No one wanted to wake her, so no one talked above a whisper.

In the blink of an eye, several doctors ran past Henry's room, all in the same direction…and they were in a hurry. Mandy woke up, and everybody followed the doctors, saying nothing, but sharing worried looks.

Dozens of doctors were split between Catherine's, Greg's, Archie's, and Super Dave's rooms, hovering over each of them, who had flat lined. Nick wondered about Jim and Wendy, but his eyes kept moving from each of the four rooms, watching intently for them to recover.

'_They were all supposed to pull through! Archie and Dave suffered minor wounds! Why are they dying_?' his mind raced in worry and fear.

He heard a scream and whirled around, noticing Henry and Warrick crumpled on the ground.

"Help! We need help!" he yelled, looking around for a doctor or nurse.

"Stop compressions, she's gone." a voice said. He looked back and saw the doctors leave Catherine's room. Greg's room was also abruptly vacated, and he stared in shock at the two corpses, covered by pristine, white sheets. Archie and Super Dave were also covered up, and Nick shook his head in confusion. You can't die from a broken leg! He looked back to Warrick and Henry, both of whom were also covered in sheets.

"What?" he asked to himself, utterly dumbstruck. Too dumbstruck to even feel sad.

"It was my fault." Grissom said, but his voice sounded warped, almost demonic.

"Griss?" he asked, looking to his boss.

"I did that to Greg." Grissom said, suddenly holding his issued gun. Before Nick even had time to blink, Grissom fired a bullet into his head and he fell to the floor.

"Grissom!" he yelled in shock.

Hodges, Mandy, and the Doc stared at him, holding hands. "Their time was up, Nick. Grissom couldn't handle it. Can you?" Hodges asked, his voice also sounding warped. The three of them smiled ear-to-ear and laughed maniacally.

Nick suddenly woke up in Henry's room. Sighing in relief and exhaustion, he rubbed his eyes and looked around the room. Everybody was sound asleep, except for Grissom.

'_It was just a dream. Just a dream_.' he thought, silently praying.

* * *

_Three days later_

(Grissom)

He had just returned to his home from Sara's and Bobby's funeral. It was depressing, but oddly comforting, as well.

Brass, Wendy, and Greg were unable to make it, much to their dismay, which included shouting and throwing things. Grissom didn't blame them for their anger, and knew that if they could have, the three of them would have shown up in gauze and hospital gowns.

There was a package waiting for him by his front door, and he scooped it up as he unlocked the door. He wasn't much of a drinker, but after the funerals, he wanted nothing more than to black out in an alcohol-induced haze, so he was unable to picture the sights of the two caskets in his mind…especially Sara's…

He opened the package and froze at its contents: a tape player.

Hands shaking, he pressed play.

"_Funerals are always so depressing, aren't they, Gilbert?_" It was the same voice from the INTERCOM in that factory.

"Mark Hoffman." he whispered.

"_Such a sad sight as you watch your friends get put six feet under. Especially when the caskets are sealed_." Hoffman continued.

'_He was there?_' he thought, furious and disgusted.

"_I know you told the police my name. There's a BOLO out on me. Since you've ruined any chance I had at going back to being a detective, I guess I have no choice but to continue what I know isn't working. Maybe I can succeed where John Kramer failed in trying to rehabilitate unworthy souls. Try to catch me if you can. I hear Miami is nice this time of year, or perhaps Boston, or Chicago. So many choices…Give everyone my best. I know I have_."

The tape ended and Grissom sat in stunned silence, trying to process what he had just head.

* * *

A/N: Leave a review if you have the time. Was the story a success or a fiasco in your mind?


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